Stalking, You Say?
by RandomHatTheif
Summary: FranceXDenmark CRACK pairing. Francis, as usual, is bored with the Summit meetings and takes it upon himself to fine amusement.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

Boredom. It's not one of Francis Bonnefoy's fortes – and he particularly dislikes partaking in it. And at the World Summit of all places, really? He supposed he could blame Arthur for having nothing interesting to say, and beyond that, not speaking the _Language of Love _as all things should be. The Frenchman sighed, resting his head on his fist and looking around.

Perhaps it was time to take up his newest pastime – people watching – or if you'd rather, stalking. This name being given courtesy of one Arthur Kirkland. Which, mind you, Francis isn't stalking anyone; stalking involves being actively obsessed with and following your target, whereas while people watching, one only observes the beings around them. Clearly, Francis did no such thing as stalking, in fact, he remained in his seat the _entire _time. Ha. Take that, Angeterre.

"and furthermore, I propose – " Never mind, Arthur's still boring.


	2. Chapter 2: The Benefits of Eavesdropping

Francis looked about the room and glanced briefly at the people in it. Oh how he did adore watching his little Mattieu hover around young Alfred, because frankly, Alfred, himself, and Arthur are some of the few people whom regularly acknowledge his existence. Though Mattieu seemed to have caught on, and was quick to darken and ask if something was needed. Pity, he was so cute too. Alfred made an interesting subject, though his antics grew tiresome quickly. Perhaps he should look abroad, possibly look more so into Asia or Africa...

"Yeah, and that jerk England wouldn't let me run around the house either!"

Oh, does Francis hear right? Is that little Peter Kirkland talking down on his big brother again? The blonde perked up, shooting a glance toward the boy in question. Why yes, yes he was, and Berwald and Tino were listening, content as ever with their adoptive son's antics. The rest of Scandinavia sat around the three, trying their best to pay attention to the scruffy blonde at the podium. Norway seemed rather interested, which is to be expected. After all, he and Arthur have things in common and are mutual friends. Those men and their fairy tales... Francis shook his head briefly before looking back at the two men he'd not yet appraised; Iceland sat beside Norway, looking a bit like Mattieu did when Alfred insisted upon slinging his arm over his shoulders in pictures and even walking down the street, and Denmark, he was fiddling with something, though Francis couldn't be sure what.

He looked rather gloomy, compared to his usual cheery self, with his posture forgotten and his hair even more scraggly than before. Heck, even those beautiful cobalt blue eyes didn't shine with the same intensity. Poor thing. Now, mind you Francis is nothing if not affectionate, so his reaction was automatic. Denmark looked up in time to catch an innocently curious, soft look from the Frenchman. It took a moment for the message to sink before the northern nation put up a fake smile and waved it off. Francis did _not _buy it.


	3. Chapter 3: Passion, or the Lack Thereof

Francis began to notice the little things over the next few days, as he studied the men at the meetings he really should be paying attention to... if only Arthur were a bit more lively.

It seemed like Denmark and Sweden had a bit of beef, the latter regularly monitoring the distance between Denmark and the two he personally claimed: Finland and Sealand. Denmark apparently wasn't allowed too close to the man's "wife" and "son". France felt a little bad about that. It reminded him of when Arthur took his Mattieu. Francis decided to take a break and try to focus on the American at the podium, telling tales of radical ideas they all knew wouldn't be possible – much less work.

He focused on small things in America, instead of brewing quite so heavily over the Nordic across the way. Alfred. Dear Alfred, he still wears his bomber jacket – a fact that irks Angeterre to no end, because it brings back memories. Terribly sweet memories of having a little _brother_ that loved him so, not like Peter in the least. Francis, on the other hand, still had many siblings after his Matthieu was taken from him, but he still cared deeply for the blonde. Forgive him for playing a little favoritism, but it was difficult for anyone to look at the nation without spying a little French in him. Francis began to grow sad and changed his pattern of thought.

Alfred's hair stuck up stubbornly in what he referred to as a "cow lick." Such an unsavory name for such an adorable trait. Mattieu had one, though much longer and curlier. Denmark's entire head seemed to prick in the wrong direction. Adorable. Alfred also had blue eyes, lighter than Denmark's and not quite as violet as Mattieu's. The shade was a bit bright for Francis' tastes, though he'll admit there was a time when he had quite the infatuation for little America. All the energy and passion he puts into everything he does, it made the sexual prospect cross the Frenchman's mind.

Denmark _usually _drowns his activities in passion and life, though not as much lately. Perhaps he was lonely...

"Alfred, you're being idiotic! How do you propose we make a sun-glass lens that big?" Angeterre's nasally English accent itched under Francis' skin. The Brit knew French, why not let the sultry syllables float from the tongue instead of such harsh, solitary jabber?

"And how to suspend it in the atmosphere?" Germany piped in, his accent was even worse, given that he was slurring disapproving German into the English mess. Ugh. French, French is the answer!

"Oh Amérique, je réclame une cavité. Oui?" He had his hand raised nonchalantly into the air. Pity the poor dear didn't understand a word he'd just said, though it was endearing to see Mattieu comprehend the tongue. He cast a glance at Arthur and smiled sweetly as the Englishman offered a proper translation.

"He wants a recess."


	4. Chapter 4: Warm our Bones, oui?

If you know France at all, you know he's so obviously up to no good by having called the break. It was to last 30 minutes, so he wouldn't have much time to work his magic on the Nordic, but he was sure he could do it. Or at least set the wheels in motion.

"Ah, bonjour Denmark." Francis smiled softly at the blonde he had forced himself through the crowd to stand beside. The Dane was quick to put up a facade at the man beside him.

"Det, France."

"You know," the Frenchman motioned toward the window, "it's awfully chilly outside. How about a little, ah liquor to warm up our bones?" Denmark perked up at this prospect.

"That sounds good. Franzis, ja?"

"Oui. And what am I to call you?" He watched the Dane's brow knit for a moment, then relax back out into a smile. He grinned and closed his eyes as they made their way to the seats they would claim. Francis made sure they got a stool farther in the back.

"Denmark iz fine."

After a couple shots, both were rather impressed with the others' ability to hold their alcohol. They must have been a sight, their blonde hair is tousles, neither opting for the smooth and pristine look, laughing loudly, their faces red from beer and wine. Denmark brought his glass down on the counter in time with France, smiling like a madman. He noted the wild spark in the Frenchman's eye. So he was competitive?

"Ey, FRANKRIG, I bet I can drink more than you."

"Before passing out? Oh, Le Danemark, you will lose."

"Ve'll see. Ready?"

"Set."

"Go!" The men began putting away the shots, letting the alcohol sting the back of their throats as they flung their heads back, gulping at the harsh liquid slamming into their mouths. France could just make out the hands on the clock face as they blurred in and out of the haze. The meeting had convened once more almost an hour ago.

Arthur would chew him out later. Oh well.

Denmark laughed loudly and slung an arm over France's shoulder, much to his pleasure. Forgive him, but as the alcohol flirted with his system, he had began to start imagining ways to take the Dane home. He had started wondering how much better the shots would taste when mingled with Denmark's mouth. He brought his arm around the man's waist as they took another shot. Denmark lost his balance halfway through the swig and toppled his stool. France halted his swallow as he had himself dragged to the floor atop the blonde, the loud bar didn't cast a glance at them.

"Ah, Den. I think we've reached our limits. I doubt you'll have the legs to make it back to the hotel." The laughter from the man beneath him sent France's body shaking with a chuckle that was not his. He forced himself off the man, not trusting himself after feeling the muscle rolling under the pale skin, after having the deep giggle reverberate through his bones. Denmark really was very sexy, the attraction was primal. He lifted himself off, but couldn't seem to find his other leg very well, and ended up more so rolling over the Dane and onto the floor.

"Ve can sleep right here! Zis a bar! People pass out all ze time!"

"Ah, vrai, vrai, but this is England and wouldn't trust myself asleep in the bar if I were dead." He turned on his side, propped his head on his fist, and gazed at the man. He had an idea, "Hé, Den, why don't we attempt to get ourselves back to the hotel? My room is terribly comfy." It was relatively quiet – save for the sounds of the other bar patrons and the Dane's breathing – as he thought about the offer.

"Orden, let's go." They scrambled to their feet and – much to the Frenchman's delight – used each other for stability. He couldn't say he was helping the Dane much, he was much stronger than Francis, but the other man said nothing to the effect. He began to think about exactly _how _to achieve the goal he couldn't remember setting: getting Denmark in bed. Well, the _getting _him there part would be simple, but the turning him on and getting his clothes off might prove as a bit of a challenge. Merveilleux. Francis liked a challenge – at least a sexual one.


	5. Chapter 5: My Turn

Denmark stumbled a bit, truthfully, he'd been waaay more drunk, but why tell Francis? Not when the Frenchman was enjoying the contact nearly as much as he. He'd been in such a sour mood lately; partly because little Tino had finally explained that Norge was being mean, partly because Su had been an ass lately. Especially about Finland talking to him. Please! Denmark could still kick his ass, but why bother? He's not worth it!

The Dane held his own weight as they sauntered through the British lobby, earning knowing glances from the other late-night drunkards, but couldn't resist wrapping an arm around France again as they made it to the empty elevator. Kære Gud, how could someone be so very attractive? Soft blonde hair teasing whomever it passed, daring them to run their fingers through it. Bedroom eyes, searching wherever they look – it was attractively predatory, but he'd seen them plead for affection just as often as they demanded it. Anyone knew he had a perfect figure, masculine and toned, but the skin over the devious soul looked inhumanly soft – as it felt. Denmark had slipped his hand under the man's shirt twice already on their little trip, and he'd loved it.

He waited hungrily as Francis unlocked the door and let him in, call him impatient, but he doesn't like waiting. As soon as the door was closed, he stepped forward and made his move.

When he turned himself to face his room, planning to scan it for wherever his catch had gone, he saw only clothing and a seductive smirk before him. He let himself be pressed against the door he'd just closed and leaned his head back to raise an eyebrow at the Dane. His response to the gesture was a rough mouth against his own, to which he welcomed with open arms, though said arms quickly found homes on Denmark's coat, balling the fabric in their fingers, pulling him closer. Denmark still had an arm against the door, the other pressing into France's lower back, forcing him closer. Eventually, mouths dropped open and necks were quickly bruised.

"Den~ I knew there was a reason you kept your hands on me." The blonde, whom had reversed the roles and was now happily straddling the Dane, undressing him button by button, teased.

"Ja. I could say ze same."

"You could." He laughed lightly, recapturing Denmark's mouth with his own and finding great pleasure in the way the man balled his hands in his hair. He didn't even mind when he was flopped on his back again, it made the belt easier to get off. He leaned up to kiss at his neck as he brushed his fingers in places he dare not tell of. The agonized gasping noises from the man above fueled him. He was about to continue when he found his arms pinned away from either of their bodies and Denmark making a very talented acquaintance with his geography. It was his turn to make noises.

And this is the point where personalities really come into play: Denmark having a bit more of a time keeping himself atop the Frenchman and the aforementioned Frenchman having more of a challenge of a different kind than he'd initially expected. For instance, he had gotten into Denmark's pants just fine – he'd even done so with his teeth. Talent! – but he was still trying not to scream quite so loud, and above that, trying to outlast the Dane. He was France – after all – this was what he was best at.

In the other man's opinion, he was proving himself miraculously, and proving a long standing point – one Denmark had tried on more than one occasion to convince Norge of. In fact, it was one of the few things he and Su could agree on; there was something different about being with a man instead of a woman, or another country instead of a human, and Denmark was now lustfully enjoying both preferences at the moment. With men, there was nothing awkward, male anatomy was simple and easy to please; no breast to worry about fondling(though he really didn't see why people enjoy the activity so), no difficult body curvature to try and conform to, and no mixed signals – at least not with most men. The Dane had his thoughts abruptly cut off when he found himself being rolled over and whacking the floor for the second time tonight: once again, he was tipsy, and once again, Francis was on top of him, but this time, they were alone, the door was locked, and no one would come looking for them for another 4 hours. The next words being purred out of the mouth at his ear, sent Denmark into chills:

"You've had your fun, now I'm going to make you scream my name, Den."


	6. Chapter 6: Morning After :end:

It wasn't the pleasure of knowing the Nordic had more than willingly – almost eagerly- wrapped himself around him that made France so very satisfied. It wasn't exactly how loud, rough, and lustful the soundtrack of the night had been. It wasn't how amazing the sex had felt. No, it was none of these things. It would have to be, in his opinion, how strangely right it had seemed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He tried to be careful with his waking movements, as not to wake the man still wrapped around him.

The arms around the Frenchman's torso were not clingy or submissive, but rather quite possessive. It was cute, he had to admit, to see the Dane looking so peaceful and smug – even in his sleep – when not but a few hours before he'd been very much awake and very much more sober than he'd let on. There was just something about being manipulated with the intent of sex that turned Francis on as soon as he realized it. After that, it had been automatic and in a way, graceful. Well, as graceful as moans and thrusts could be.

"Ah," Denmark repositioned under the covers, stretching and lolling his messy head back down into France's skin, "Vil ikke gå så meget Frankrig."

"Je ne parle pas danois. Qu'avez-vous dit?"

"Vut?" Denmark forced his head up and blinked at the blonde, whom only laughed a little.

"I was saying, I don't speak Danish."

"Ah. I zaid, do not move zo much." And then he happily buried his face in the covers again, and soon, was back to lightly snoring.

"Of course, mon amoureux provisoire."

**A/N:**

** Halohalo gaiz. Have you liked this little crack fic of mine? Gosh, in every review I've gotten(which I am sooooooo happy to receive) people have said "I never thought of this pairing!" Well, truthfully, I hadn't either! Actually, I was filling out a journal meme thing on dA and one of the questions was a challenge to write a short crack fic for the following numbers(which ended up being Denmark and France XDD)**

** I finally got around to it! And this is the end. Fin. Done. Complete. SUCCESS! **

** I realize there are quite a few translations in here, just know that I didn't personally translate any of it. I used my ever loyal translator. Worldlingo. Blame them for any subject-verb agreement errors. **

** -RHT 3456**


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